


cats? bacon? coffee? moon?

by gayforroxane



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Anyways, Flirting, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, and coffee with bacon and cats and moons that's literally the whole thing, look it's me again at midnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 13:47:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10466436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayforroxane/pseuds/gayforroxane
Summary: you broke into my flat drunk thinking it was yours, but my cat seems to like you so we're gooddrunk!jughead with coffee (later)confused-and-sleep-deprived archie (always)





	

**Author's Note:**

> streaks of consciousness? vaguely trippy? 
> 
> this is my third fic today i am on a fucking ROLL..... of exhaustion

There's a shuffling out in the living room (honestly, he calls it a living room, but it's really not - it's the one room in his flat that isn't his bedroom or the bathroom. The kitchen is in the living room so really, it's not a living room at all, more like the hideous, self-conscious child of a couch and a stove, all paid for by a student salary at the local record shop).

It’s nearly three o'clock in the morning on a Wednesday night and he has an eight am class the next day. It's a governmental politics class that Betty Cooper - pretty, smart, clever Betty Cooper - had asked him to take with her, before promptly dropping it for Advanced Political Reasoning in the Twenty-First Century.

He wonders, as he stands in his briefs, bleary from lack of sleep, if his robber will mind him not wearing much.

Feet pad on an uneven, poorly lamented floor and his hands slide against re-re-re-repainted white walls, bumpy with the layers they've received.

He walks past the shitty bathroom with the shitty water pressure and the claw foot tub, the broken mirror and the expensive soaps, trips over the hissing cat part way down the hall, and winds up in his ‘living room’ feeling like death only very slightly warmed over.

He blinks.

Halfway through his window there's a boy, looking for all the world like a nymph, or a faery, or a boy king, because the moon is very wide and very white and that's all he can see.

If he really remembers how the universe works. buried under a mound of red curls as the information is, he knows that there's no way in hell that the boy in his flat is any of these things. But at three o'clock in the morning, after meeting a particularly grumpy cat, and a stranger crawling through his window (he lives on the second floor how the fuck…?), his mouth misses the interjection that says, ‘Yes, pardon me, Your Honour? Faeries, nymphs, and boy kings are an unlikely--’

“Why the fuck is there a faery climbing through my window?”

The stranger jumps, crashing to the floor with a yelp-turned-groan. “Fuck. Jesus, you scared the shit outta me.” He sits up a little, and Archie can't make out any of him. “Who the _fuck_ are you?”

“Who the fuck am _I_?” He asks, leaning casually against his wall, not at all worried (from what he can see the kid looks like he weighs ninety-seven pounds soaking wet and in a _parka_ , much less bone dry and in a white tank top and jeans, while Archie - thank you varsity football - does not). “Who the fuck are _you_?”

“Right now is so not the time for existential questions, pal, as I am, incredibly fucking drunk.”

Archie stares at him, slightly awed, because he's so drunk he can't remember what floor he lives on, but he just said the word ‘existential’ flawlessly. “It's three in the morning, you're pissed as shit and you're in my apartment, on the second floor. Who the fuck are you?”

The stranger pauses. “This is your apartment?”

Archie nods. “Yep.”

“What floor?”

“Two.”

“Shit. I live on the third.”

The stranger stands, and Archie surges forward, catching him around his waist, and under his knees, hoisting him up, and dumping him unceremoniously on the couch.

“You're not climbing back out that window, I will not be responsible for your death. Just… stay here, on my shitty-ass couch and buy me a coffee in the morning as payment, ‘kay?”

The stranger blinks up at him, eyes tracking down his body and Archie blushes. “Try not to let the cat eat you?”

 

 

The next morning, Archie wakes up at eleven, noticing casually that he's forgotten to set his alarm for his class from hell.

Bringing himself to care requires a lot more energy than he’ll ever want to dedicate to the task, so he rolls up and out of bed, flinging his comforter to one side.

He pauses, part way down the hallway.  
It smells… like coffee and bacon in his apartment and it hasn't smelled like that since before Betty moved out to live with the cute lawyer whose name escapes him.  
He wonders if the cat has learned to cook.

Poking his head around the corner, he sees a boy in a white tank top and black skinny jeans, his feet perched in red chucks, and a very small grey tabby cat sitting on his shoulder. He's humming lightly.

Archie smiles.

“ _God only knows what I'd be without you, God only knows._.." 

He can barely hear it over the crisp and smack of the bacon, but he's charmed anyways.

“Wow,” he teases, “Bacon too, huh? Are you trying to get in my pants or something?” His voice catches in his throat right near the end though, because the boy had turned around and _oh_ -

His eyes are big and blue or grey or maybe even green and tracing the angles of Archie’s face and body, catching on his jaw and mouth, on his hips and thighs. His eyes are catching the light from the only good window in the house, looking nearly transparent. Dark hair curls from beneath the rim of a grey beanie, brushes against pale, mole-painted skin and hollow collarbones and lean limbs and Archie licks his lips absently.

The cat purrs from the boy’s shoulder.

“Jughead Jones,” He says, turning back to the bacon with a grin that knots in the corners of his eyes. Archie feels a twist in his gut, and he wants to kiss that grin.

“Sorry, what?” He says, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, because he's still only wearing his briefs.

“Jughead,” The boy repeats. “That's my name.”

Archie stares at him.

The boy - Jughead - raises an eyebrow and quirks the corners of his lips into a smirk. “This is the part where you introduce yourself…”

“Oh!” He says, tracing Jughead’s jawline. “It's uh - I’m Archie. Archie Andrews.”

The boy hums ( _...knows what I’d do without you_ ), pulling two plates from the rickety cupboard that never quite closes. He places the cat on the floor near her full food dish, while dumping bacon onto the plates and pouring coffee for them both and Archie has been so turned on in his life.

“Well,” Jughead says with a grin, placing both plates on the table and gesturing to one of two unstable Ikea chairs, “Want some breakfast?” 

**Author's Note:**

> MIDNIGHT  
> AGAIN
> 
> actually so lucky that usagi (angeburger) and they're beta-ing skills were still awake (thanks usagi my fic wife)  
> i wrote this in like half an hour and i'm ready for death or sleep whichever comes first
> 
> anyways if you wanna talk/rant/question/implode/beta/have me beta/give me prompts/whatever you can comment or hmu on tumblr at blue-by-auster 
> 
> xx  
> mads


End file.
